Leaving Home
by pieandsouffle
Summary: One-shot. Sam tells his family he doesn't want to hunt with them. John doesn't react well. This is the argument that occurs when Sam leaves for Stanford. Pre-series. M because there's a considerable amount of swearing. Sorry for making John so annoying.


**Okay, this fic starts off from an outsider's POV. No real reason for it. It will swap to Dean's, then Sam's. Please ignore any spelling or grammar errors, or even whole words getting missed out. I really try to get rid of all of them, but I miss a lot.**

It would have been a very quiet night, if it weren't for Rosie's noisy neighbours. The elderly woman moaned as the angry voices rose in volume, and she tried to cover her ears with her overstuffed hotel pillow.

She hoped that the obviously angry family would leave the hotel soon. They were loud and she hated angry voices, and it reminded her too much of her parents screaming at her.

There was one last statement screamed, and then the door to the next room was slammed shut so hard that Rosie's window rattled. It sounded too much like her own husband's last words to her when he stormed out twenty years ago and put an end to himself, and she prayed to herself now that the argument would be resolved and the couple would remain together, and happy.

She nervously peeked through the curtains, only to see instead of an upset spouse, a very tall, very young man (too young to be married, she realized) shouldering a large backpack and stalking resolutely away from the room next door. Rosie's face softened as she gazed at him. He resembled a boy she had once seen, a little boy who had stared at her from a shiny black car with another child, the children of a lovely young man who had gotten rid of whatever was frightening her in her old house. Except that, of course, was nearly fifteen years ago, when she still lived in the house her husband and she had once lived in happily for some time.

But this boy was leaving the hotel room determinedly, like he had some duty he must fulfil, and she could now also see a man that looked very much like the little boy's father from fifteen years ago. He was yelling at the young man. Even from the distance she was at, and with her poor eyesight, Rosie could see how angry and upset the boy was from leaving.

A blonde youth appeared next to the father and watched the boy leave with no emotion. But Rosie had lived a long time, and she knew that she saw something in his eyes.

She closed the crack in the curtains, thinking she had seen enough. Her heart already went out to that boy, being thrown away from his family, but she also felt pity for the other boy, who had watched the other one leave with sad green eyes.

00000

The Winchesters were seated around an irritatingly small table in another crappy hotel room, eating fast food. Dean dug into his burger with an expression that seemed to say that it was better than sex. Which Dean had declared loudly, more than once. Sam picked at the lettuce in his salad and distastefully eyed the fries that sat on his plate. John wasn't eating at all, glaring at files and newspaper clippings that littered the table in huge numbers, as he tried to work out where a possible case would be.

Dean reached over and took Sam's plate when his younger brother finished the vegetables. Sam allowed him. His little bro hated nearly everything about this life, even the food. Even greasy fast food amazingness. How could anyone hate fast food?

It was good staying with his family, but his father and Sam could hardly speak to each other without ending up screaming. And Dean would always side with dad, so Sam really was just alone most of the time.

John frowned at the papers and scrawled something into his journal, which he then slammed shut, making the table jolt.

"Wodizzit, Dad?" Dean sprayed bits of potato across the table and Sam edged away slightly, avoiding the projectile chunks of greasy food. Dean made a face at him, but Sam didn't react and just stared at his plate.

"Case in Yellowstone National Park," John grunted. "Something's been snatching up tourists, eight so far. About 25 years ago there were twelve disappearances in the same place, all tourists, and seven more before that in 1951."

"It's probably a wendigo," Sam suggested quietly. "Hunting every 25 years."

"Yeah, I thought so too," John sighed. "We'll head off to deal with it tomorrow morning."

Sam flinched slightly when his father said they were leaving. John Winchester missed the action, but it didn't escape Dean's eye.

"Sammy, you okay?" his older brother said loudly. Sam glanced at Dean.

"Uh, yeah. I'm good." He winced as John looked up curiously.

"Really?" said Dean, crossing his arms. "'Cause just then you looked like you were in pain."

Sam now had John's full attention. "What is it, kiddo?" John asked.

Sam winced again. "I was just thinking..."

Dean and John both frowned. They were both used to Sam complaining about changing schools when they left for a new case, but they hadn't thought it would continue even when Sam had finished school.

"… I might not come with you." Sam was staring at his hands, refusing to make any eye contact with his brother or his father. "On any more hunts, I mean."

Silence ensued. The youngest Winchester looked away from the table nervously.

"And why would you not come with us?" John asked angrily after the pause. "You too good for these jobs?"

Sam cringed. "No, I-"

"No, that's exactly what you meant," John raised his voice to drown out Sam's sentence. "I guess saving people isn't good enough. You've always hated this. I guess you just can't be bothered to help people."

Dean wished for the thousandth time that Dad wouldn't turn everything into an argument so quickly. John nearly always exploded at anything Sam said.

"No!" Sam yelled. He stood up, nearly overturning the table. Dean lurched forward and saved his plate as it nearly fell off the now-shaking table. "I_ like _helping people. But can't I do anything else with my life besides hunting?"

"This is our _job_," John shouted back. He stood up, hoping to intimidate his youngest son, but Sam had sprouted up in the last few years, and now stood several inches taller than his father and brother. "You too selfish to save people? Well, I hope you'll be happy when people die because you can't be bothered to help them. Your brother _never_ complained about hunting! Why can't you act like him?!" His voice continued rising.

Dean recoiled at the 'why can't you be like your brother' argument. He hated it when Sam and John argued, because he hated taking sides. He loved his little brother a lot; Hell, he'd die for him in a second without thinking twice. But Sam was so rebellious, and Dean honestly thought his father was right. Hunting was the most important thing in their lives, and Dean really couldn't understand his brother's intense dislike of hunting. It was always something he enjoyed doing, but then there was Sam, who loathed it with his whole heart. Dean didn't get it. They were heroes. So why did Sam hate it?

"Oh, why can't I be like Dean?" Sam bellowed back. Their voices had both risen so loud, Dean was surprised that the hotel manager hadn't crashed into their room, demanding them to pack their bags and go, or at least charge them for noise pollution. "Because I'm not Dean, Dad! You can't get that in your fucking head, can you?! I've never been fucking good enough compared to Dean, have I? Oh yeah, sure, I got through school with results that were better than every other students' scores _combined_, but that doesn't matter 'cause the only thing that _ever fucking matters _is how well I can _kill_ something! And apparently I can't even do that! I mean, you say after _every _hunt that I'm a liability!"

"Don't be so selfish, you-"

"I'm _eighteen, _Dad! I'm a _kid. _Of_ course_ I'm gonna be selfish. It's what kids are! I can hardly even believe that _you _are lecturing _me _about being selfish!"

Dean slouched lower in his seat. Shit, here came the screaming match on being egocentric.

"You wouldn't give a crap about any of these people if Mom hadn't been killed! I guess your stupid little revenge mission is more important than letting your sons have normal fucking lives!" Sam screamed.

"Leave me out of this, Sam," Dean murmured.

"And I'm gonna _get _the normal life I want! You wanna know why I'm leaving?" Sam's voice dropped slightly, and he pulled out an envelope. Dean managed to read one word on the envelope (_Stanford_), before Sam shoved the letter in his father's face. "Because I got a _full scholarship. _To_ Stanford. _But that's not good enough, is it? Well, you won't have to deal your disappointment of a son anymore, because I am _fucking going _to college and you_ can't fucking stop me._" Sam stalked away from the table and threw his envelope in a backpack, and began stuffing the bag with various possessions.

Dean's eyes widened when he heard that Sam had gotten a scholarship to Stanford. His first reaction was to swell with pride. _His _little brother was the smartest kid he'd ever met. No other kid would be able to juggle studies and hunting and still be admitted into one of the world's leading universities. But then his stomach contracted when he realized Sam would be leaving. And then he became livid. His little brother was leaving him for a dumb school. He felt even more furious. He had always looked after Sam, and now his baby bro was going to leave him with barely a second thought._ Let him go, _his mind screamed. So Dean decided he was going to do just that.

Sam snatched his phone off the table and stuffed it into his pocket.

Dean sneaked a look at his father, and his stomach dropped when he saw the man's expression. He looked so dark, and angry, and Dean immediately knew his father was going to say something stupid. As angry as Dean was, he knew John was going to yell something that they would both regret. But he also couldn't bring himself to stop his father. Sam stalked away to the door and threw it open.

"If you walk through that door," John said viciously, "don't even bother coming back."

Dean saw Sam's eyes widen, and how much that one sentence upset him, but his brother quickly contorted his features into a furious mask.

"_Fine,_" Sam hissed as he left the room. His face softened when he looked at his brother. "Bye, Dean. I'll call you when I get there."

"Just _go_, boy!" John screamed.

Sam slammed the door behind him as hard as he possibly could, but John followed him and flung the door back open and screamed more hurtful things at Sam. Dean stood behind his father and watched his baby brother leave them. That was the last Dean would see of his little brother for a very long time. And he hadn't even tried to defend him. He hadn't even said _goodbye_.

00000

Sam headed to the bus station. It was cold, and it was raining, so it was quite a long time before he realized he was crying. He hadn't even noticed the tears among the raindrops drenching him. They could have been from rage, or from the things Dad had screamed from the door of the hotel room, or from Dean's complete lack of interest in the argument. Usually Dean would look pained, or resigned, when John and Sam fought, but this time he had barely glanced at Sam when he walked out the door, and when Sam saw his face, he was expressionless. He hadn't even said goodbye. But it didn't matter anyway. He couldn't let it hurt him, even though it felt like part of his soul was being pulled away and burned.

Sam had planned to keep in contact with his family, maybe do some research from the huge library at Stanford and give them details of hunts, perhaps visit them from time to time when they were in California, but he couldn't even _see_ them anymore. He had imagined being on good terms with John and Dean, meeting up with them and talking about what had happened when they were separated.

He was utterly alone now. Sam was going to call Dean when he got to California, but his brother didn't even seem to care anymore.

He probably wouldn't even pick up the phone.

Sam swallowed, and wiped his tears of his face roughly with his sleeve. If he was alone, he had to see the good that came from the situation. At first, he couldn't think of anything except the despair he felt from being pushed away by his family, but he started repeating to himself, "You aren't a hunter anymore; you aren't a hunter anymore…"

It took six or seven recitations until it sank in. _He wasn't a hunter anymore._

A crazy smile lit up his face, accompanied by a feeling that warmed his entire body, and he found himself caring a lot less about losing his family. It still hurt, leaving Dean and Dad, but they were better off without him. He always had been a liability on hunts.

And now he was free from hunting. Sam stopped on the edge of the road, and just stood in the downpour, laughing.

He had escaped. Finally. He'd be able to rent an apartment in California, and live there without having to worry about suddenly moving. He could make friends that he wouldn't have to abandon at a moment's notice. He'd get an honest job. He was particularly interested in law. Maybe Dean and Dad ganked paranormal monsters; but he could take care of the human ones. He could actually have a long-term relationship with a girl, instead of just dating a nice girl for a week before getting dragged away by his family. Sam could get married. He could start a family, have the perfect little apple-pie, picket-fence life that he had always wanted.

Knowing he never had to hunt again, and thinking of this amazing future he had ahead of him- even all alone, estranged from his family- well, it made standing alone on a rainy night one of the best moments in his life.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this! If you liked it, please review and give me ideas on how to improve my writing. Thank you!**


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